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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24813697">babe, shark</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/moreless/pseuds/moreless'>moreless</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>DCU (Comics), Justice League - All Media Types, Justice League Dark: Apokolips War</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Barebacking, Biting, Double Penetration in One Hole, First Meetings, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pre-Relationship, Rimming, Size Difference, Size Kink, Unsafe Sex, messy sex</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 02:20:45</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,553</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24813697</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/moreless/pseuds/moreless</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p></p><blockquote>
  <p>“You good?” King Shark growls. He’s still patting John’s hair, gentle despite John’s offer, like he’s some kind of cat. Maybe he likes the texture. “You don’t have to take both.”</p>
  <p>“Oi,” says John, licking first one hand then the other, and wrapping them around each of the cocks. “You sold me with two pricks, so I’m here for that. This good?”</p>
</blockquote>It's just a random work related encounter, until King Shark lets slip he has two dicks. Of course John has to go back with him after that.
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>John Constantine/Nanaue Sha'ark</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>491</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>babe, shark</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Many thanks to everyone who read "Sharks are Smooth as Hell", kudosed and commented, and especially to all who came with shark facts. Porn logic won here, so I ended up up not really using them, but the science is much appreciated.</p><p>Minor warning: Nanaue doesn't ask John before biting him, and it's not brought up before. John's chill with it though.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>At some point they make it from the bar to King Shark’s hotel, a something-star several blocks away. Far enough for John to walk off the burning edge of his arousal, but not too far that he’s tempted to give into his frustration and drag King Shark into an alley for a quick fuck behind a dumpster.</p><p>King Shark’s a gentleman—gentleshark?—holding open the door for John to saunter through. Judging from the way reception doesn’t bat an eye at either of them, hotel’s probably rogue affiliated, run under some shell company that belongs to Luthor, or Sionis, or Cobblepot or whatever criminal wanker with money to their name. Which means there’s a chance Batman’ll come swinging into their room mid-fuck, but John’s been dealing with a semi for the past half hour, and he doesn’t have it in himself to care. Besides, according to King Shark, he’s been keeping his nose clean for a while, baring that incident a few hours ago. They’re going to forget that bit where he’d bitten off the head of a demon. Demons don’t count.</p><p>The elevator doors ping open, and a shocked couple edges past them, wide-eyed, clutching at each other like they’d seen...a giant shark-man. Bloody tourists. The man whimpers a little at the sight of King Shark’s amiable, tooth-filled grin, and John salutes them sloppily as they pass. That’ll teach them not to read the Yelp reviews before booking.</p><p>“What floor?” asks John, mashing the button, though he knows it’s not going to make the bloody doors close any faster. Needs to keep his hands busy.</p><p>“Ninth,” King Shark rumbles, and John almost presses the wrong floor when a massive hand cups his arse and squeezes.</p><p>“Hands off the goods,” he warns, even as he wiggles back against that hand, just a little. “‘M not fucking inna lift.”</p><p>“You were going to ask me to bend you over a dumpster.”</p><p>“That was before you told me you have a bifurcated cock and a room.”</p><p>King Shark chuckles, a deep rumble that makes the lift seem to shake a little. The door pings open on their floor without any stops, and John finds himself dragged to his toes as King Shark wraps a massive arm around his waist and practically hauls him out along the corridor. Jesus Christ, it’s been a while since John’s allowed himself to be manhandled for sex reasons and he’s forgotten how much he likes it. How fucking hard it makes him.</p><p>The door opens, and John gets a brief impression of giant floor-to-ceiling windows—nice—before he’s half thrown, half pushed onto the edge of a bed. He slithers off it to his knees, some stupid desperate noise coming out of his mouth at the sight of King Shark’s retreating back.</p><p>“I’m getting the lube.” There’s the sound of a drawer opening, water running; in the meantime John adjusts his cock, sighing in relief as he undoes his fly.</p><p>A packet smacks against his forehead, then another—he ducks and the next strip of three lands on the floor. King Shark emerges from the lav with some lotion, the tube dwarved in his hands, smaller than even his pinky.</p><p>“Look ‘ere, mate,” John blurts out, “I know you’ve got two cocks and all, but I’m no virgin, far from it.”</p><p>“You’ll need it,” says King Shark. He sounds a little grim as he undoes his trousers, and John guesses that this is the part where others might have run for the hills. Not him, though.</p><p>Turns out sharks—or this shark-man at least—are boxer brief guys, the outline of two erections already pushing against the cloth. There’s no precome, or either King Shark’s not that aroused yet, unlike John, who’s already leaking a damp spot against his own boxers.</p><p>“Oh look at that,” he murmurs, shuffling forward on his knees, mouth watering at the sight. King Shark huffs a little when John plants his face into his crotch, mouthing first over one prick then the other. A slightly tentative hand cards itself through his hair, sharp claws pricking over his scalp.</p><p>“You can pull if you want, love,” says John, then goes about freeing King Shark’s erections from his briefs.</p><p>“Fuck,” he breathes. They’re a sight. He’s seen...he’s seen a lot of cock, but it’s not like there’s an abundance of hot, gay shark-men in the world, so he’d had no idea what he’d get beyond two of them. This is bloody brilliant. He can already feel his arsehole clench in anticipation, and he gets now why he’s going to need all the lube. Just one of King Shark’s pricks is already girthier and longer than the average human’s, taking two of them is going to be a feat. John might actually have to fist himself to prep for them.</p><p>King Shark watches all this go through his head, doing the math. “You good?” he growls. He’s still patting John’s hair, gentle despite John’s offer, like he’s some kind of cat. Maybe he likes the texture. “You don’t have to take both.”</p><p>“Oi,” says John, licking first one hand then the other, and wrapping them around each of the cocks. “You sold me with two pricks, so I’m here for that.” No foreskin, and still no precome. “This good?”</p><p>“Yes,” says King Shark. “But you should start using the lubricant. Sharks don’t have pre-come. Also,” he adds, “condoms don’t fit me.”</p><p>“Well, that’s what magic’s for, innit?” says John. “Two won’t work together anyway.” He rips open one of the sachets, warming the lubricant between his hands before he slicks it down over King Shark’s cocks. The skin here is different, he notes, smoother than the sandpaper-rough skin that covers the rest of him, which is going to be good for John’s arse. No balls, and the heads of both cocks taper to a point. He licks the tip of one, then the other, then tries to cram the heads of both in his mouth at once.</p><p><em>Now</em> King Shark tugs. “Enough,” he rumbles, pulling John back by the hair. “Take off your clothes. I don’t care how slutty you are, human, you’re going to need some time to be ready.”</p><p>“Hnnnh.” John’s head’s already spinning at the prospect of getting completely, utterly wrecked tonight. “Dammit,” he mutters, struggling at the buttons of his shirt with his slippery fingers, shrugging that off with his trench—why the fuck does he still have <em>that</em> on—before shimmying out of both boxers and trousers in one go. King Shark is taking off his own clothes, though he has far fewer layers, and he keeps on the weird crop-top, chest armour thing.</p><p>“Get on the bed,” growls King Shark, and John climbs back onto it on his hands and knees, arse up. Two large hands circle his waist, and he shivers at the thought of being...maneuvered around this, moved and manipulated like a sextoy.</p><p>Claws dig lightly into his belly, right below his navel. “You’ll have to open yourself up.” King Shark’s breath washes hot over the back of his neck, slightly fetid with blood. “Unless you want these inside you…”</p><p>John decides now’s not the time to regale his hookup with the variety of pricks and other stuff he’s had in him; in fact he rather appreciates King Shark’s efforts to not fuck him to death. Others haven’t always been so nice.</p><p>“Right,” he says, “gimme the lube.” He gets a packet thrust in his hand, while another is ripped open and drizzled carefully over his hole. It’s cold. He hisses.</p><p>“Sorry,” says King Shark.</p><p>“S’fine, it’s fine,” John reassures him. He runs his fingers through the slick between his cheeks, and prods carefully at his hole. It hasn’t been that long since he last got fucked, and he’s been fingering himself while he’s been wanking lately—he can probably take two.</p><p>It stings, and he grunts against the mattress, willing his body to adjust as quickly as possible. He can’t quite see what King Shark’s doing, but he can feel him looming, feel the heat of him against his back. He’s still got one hand curled around John’s waist.</p><p>“You do not have to rush,” he says. “I am capable of lasting quite a bit longer than you humans. I can wait.”</p><p>“Did it occur to you,” John grunts, trying to feed more lube past his rim without opening a new packet just yet, “that I’m the one who really fucking wants this, and that I want it <em>now</em>.”</p><p>A hot puff of air rolls over his back. The hairs on the back of his neck rise, fear and anticipation rolled into one, and John’s long stopped questioning why that turns him on so. King Shark’s next words come very close to his ear. “Patience.”</p><p>“You’re a bastard,” John pants, scissoring his fingers within himself. “I wanted a quick hard fuck, not a wooing.”</p><p>“You’ll get hard fuck,” King Shark promises him. “But there’ll be nothing quick about it. You’ll take my cocks, and I’ll fuck you however I want until you can’t even remember your own name.”</p><p>“I’m not the kind to scream my own name during sex,” John retorts. “By the way, you prefer King or Shark?”</p><p>“Neither,” says King Shark. “My name is Nanaue.”</p><p>“Nanaue.” John tests the name in his mouth. Not the easiest to yell in the throes of orgasm, but he’ll make do.</p><p>“You should add another finger.”</p><p>John adds another finger and whimpers against the bedspread. Nanaue rips open another packet of lube, and dribbles it past John’s splayed fingers into his hungrily clenching hole.</p><p>“You seem to know what you’re doing,” he says, once he’s adjusted enough to the new stretch and growing emptiness to focus past the buzz of pleasure and want and <em>more</em>. “You fuck a lot of humans?”</p><p>“Enough,” Nanaue grunts. “Your species are nosey as hell. Always want to know more, feel more. Kinky shitheads like you.”</p><p>“Oi, I have you know I’m rather vanilla in the grand scheme of things.” He twists his hand around, trying to get his pinky past his slippery rim. His wrist is beginning to ache. “I just like big cocks.”</p><p>“I can see that.” Something long and wet flicks against the back of John’s neck and he yelps.</p><p>“Did you just...lick me?”</p><p>“Hmmm, yes. That fine?”</p><p>It feels less like a tongue and more like a prehensile tentacle. John can get behind that. “Yeah,” he huffs. “Keep going.”</p><p>Nanaue mouths—what humans would consider mouthing—his way down John’s back, his hot wet tongue flicking over the undulations of his spine. Tasting him. John hopes he tastes good, in a sexy-for-sharks way, not a snack way.</p><p>Lube squelches obscenely between his fingers as he wiggles his pinky in. He groans as he carefully spreads his fingers until he’s split open on the blade of his hand, pushing in until his thumb catches on the rim. He feels filthy, sloppy and open, and he really really hopes that’s good enough for King Shark.</p><p>“‘M ready,” John mumbles, almost wordless with need. He humps back against his hand, does a little shimmy of pleasure when he feels Nanaue’s claws dig into his belly. Sharp pinpricks of pain blossom on his shoulder and he yelps, only for it to be chased away by the slick ministrations of Nanaue’s tongue.</p><p>“Yes,” rumbles King Shark. “Just one more thing.” And something else presses past John’s spread fingers, smaller than Nanaue’s cocks—a finger, John realises, a <em>claw</em>, gently hooking into his stretched rim to pull him wider. The damp heat against the back of his neck vanishes, then something hot and wet—also not a cock—starts pushing into his hole, past the fingers and the claw, deep into him.</p><p>Someone shouts—him, it’s him—nonsense syllables tumbling out of his mouth as Nanaue’s tongue—fuck, his <em>tongue</em>—squirms itself deeper into him, undulating against his prostate until the pressure is almost too much. “Stop,” he gasps. “Stop, m’gonna come,” but the pressure doesn’t let up, just builds and builds, until he’s whiting out from the pleasure of it, moaning brokenly into the sheets as he stripes them up with his come.</p><p>That’s when the tongue finally retracts.</p><p>“You’re ready now.”</p><p>“Whuh?” John groans. The world is muggy, edges blurring in that comfortable post orgasm haze. A large hand closes around his wrist, pulling his fingers from his ass, and that claw isn’t there anymore either. After all that buildup to that pleasurable stretch, he now feels frustratingly empty despite the orgasm. “You’re still going to fuck me, right?” he grumbles. “After all that.”</p><p>Nanaue’s answer is the pointed head of one of his cocks sliding into him. Just one—John can tell, because it falls just shy of four fingers, and claw and a tongue, doesn’t quite fill up the emptiness left behind. But it goes deep, deeper than he’s had in a while. Bits of him lighting up from the pressure, bits he’s forgotten could light up from such things.</p><p>“Oh fuck,” he breathes. “Fuck.”</p><p>“Yes,” says King Shark, and fucks him. His cock is smooth, reaches right into John like silk, but his belly is still sandpaper rough, and John can feel it against the cheeks of his arse every time he bottoms out. He’s going to have the worst carpet burn in the morning, and he doesn’t even care right now.</p><p>“Where’s the other one?” he presses. After all that prep, one isn’t going to be good enough, not if he wants to come again. “C’mon, I haven’t got all bloody night.”</p><p>“So impatient,” Nanaue grunts. “D’you really think you’re getting anywhere after I’m done with you?” There’s a twack of meat on meat as he slaps his other cock against John’s arse.</p><p>“You promised me a wrecking, shark boy.”</p><p>“You’ve already come. Let me take my time with you.”</p><p>And it’s really that, the “take my time” which makes John shut up. It could mean anything—maybe now that his pleasure’s tidily out of the way, he’s about to be used as nothing more than a warm hole. Maybe King Shark’s the more slow, sweet fuck kind of guy. Something in between. The promise of it makes John’s blood sing.</p><p>King Shark thrusts in a few times, then slips out without a warning. John groans, tries to shimmy back, but the hand curled around his hip holds him fast. He pushes back in again with a grunt but it feels different, the pace rougher, the cock itself slightly girthier though John can’t be getting tighter—it’s the other cock, he realises. King Shark’s getting his dicks wet, literally, in this case.</p><p>He hears the snap of a tube opening—that must be the lotion, they’re already out of lube? KIng Shark pulls out and John hisses, then shouts when he squeezes a dollop of cool lotion directly over John’s stretched rim. “Motherfucker,” he snarls, thumping a fist against the bed. He turns and sees King Shark grin at him, a shark’s grin, large and wide and full of teeth. “You wanker.”</p><p>King Shark just says “Hold tight,” then he’s taking himself in hand and finally, <em>finally</em>, John can feel them both, the two tapered heads pressing against his hole.</p><p>“Fuck yeah,” he mutters, canting his hips back to hurry it along. “Please, just give it to—”</p><p>He doesn’t scream, but it’s a close call, a mangled shout muffled against the sheet as he turns his face into the mattress. One hadn’t been quite enough, but now, after all the teasing, two is <em>exquisite</em>. Worth all the prep, worth the wait, worth King Shark’s fucking smirk, the smugness radiating off him as John sobs on his cocks. Shivers run up his spine, the hairs on the back of his neck tingling.</p><p>“Oh god,” he moans over and over for a bit. Between the girth and the length, it feels like his innards are being rearranged, in a good way. He’s John Constantine, he’s had them rearranged badly before. He can tell the difference.</p><p>“Fuck,” King Shark groans against his neck, hot, slavering, teeth scraping against the tender skin there. He begins to move, drawing back until only the heads of his pricks are pulling John apart, before he snaps his hip, punching an open mouthed moan out of John. All finesse has vanished, he’s basically being <em>pummeled</em> on the inside, and King Shark keeps up a sort of grinding, circular movement with each thrust, which ensures his cocks keep sliding over each other in him, moving inside him at different angles as they brush over his prostate.</p><p>John can feel his second orgasm building. His cock has been hard against for a while now, and every thrust pushes him into the mattress dragging the head over the rucked up sheets beneath, still sticky with his first release. He can’t get a hand beneath him to touch himself—he’s barely able to hold himself up against King Shark’s less than gentle thrusts. He feels that if he lets go of his death grip on the sheets he might just go sliding up the bed, off the two excellent pricks in him. Can’t let that happen.</p><p>Behind him, King Shark’s grunts are getting harsher. He’s making wet, gnashing sounds, and maybe John’s going to get his head bitten off by the end of this after all. He knows more than feels King Shark’s claws digging into his hips to hold him in place, but maybe that’s excess lube dripping down his flank, not blood. “So good,” he growls, and one massive arm slides down between John and the bed, pulling him up and back against King Shark’s chest with little effort. John yells as gravity pulls him deeper. “Look at you, taking me so beautifully.” Wet heat circles John’s shoulder, a slick tongue roaming over his sweaty skin.</p><p>King Shark bites him. Fucking bites him in the shoulder, a ring of sharp pain springing up from neck to elbow, because that much of him fits into King Shark’s mouth. John can’t even be mad, because King Shark choses that moment to brush the knuckle of one hand, sandpapery skin gentle friction, against the head of John’s cock and that’s all that it takes to undo him a second time.</p><p>He comes with a shout, spurting across the bed, grabbing at King Shark’s arm, head for something, anything to hold on to. King Shark continues to fuck him through it, even when John slumps back bonelessly, unable to do more than keep himself mostly upright.</p><p>King Shark has unclamped his jaw from John’s shoulder. His overly prehensile tongue licks itself up John’s ear, curls around John’s neck and a rumbling groan that travels through King Shark’s chest to sink into his bones is all the warning he gets before the shark-man comes. John moans—he can feel King Shark come in him, hot spurts of runny shark come. Can feel it filling him up even as it oozes out of him again between the two cocks stuffing him full, past his stretched out rim, trickling ticklishly down both thighs and onto the bed. Turns out shark come is runnier than a human’s, and it feels a little like he’s pissed himself. Looks like a condom would’ve been useless anyway.</p><p>“Fuck,” he groans. The arm around him loosens, and he collapses forward onto the bed, unheeding of the mess of fluids pooling beneath him. King Shark follows him on all fours, careful not to crush him. He’s still coming when he pulls out of John in a gush of fluid, striping John’s arse and lower back with come as he ruts out the rest of his orgasm in the cleft of John’s arse.</p><p>The mattress bounces when he rolls off and drops down next to John. John, in his pool of shark and human come, makes a disgustingly squishy noise as he bounces with the movement. He hopes the hotel burns this mattress once they’ve checked out.</p><p>When he turns his head, King Shark is watching him through hooded eyes. His nostrils are flared—maybe he thinks John smells good, covered in his come. Or maybe, John remembers, prodding at his shoulder, he’s smelling a snack.</p><p>King Shark’s eyes track the movement. “Sorry ‘bout that,” he rumbles. “Got carried away.”</p><p>It’s not too bad, at any rate, John doesn’t look like he’s been mauled. Yet. Some of the punctures in the meatier parts of his arm leak blood, but the rest are mostly scrapes. “Had worse,” he mumbles, and it’s true.</p><p>King Shark slings an arm around him, and next thing John knows, he’s being dragged out of the wet spot to the head of the bed where it’s a little drier. King Shark post orgasm is apparently a snuggler. They’ll probably regret it later when they have to unglue themselves, but for now, John’s first priority is a nap. Several naps. And King Shark is surprisingly warm for an aquatic creature.</p><p>“I’m afraid,” he mutters, turning into the shark-man’s embrace and apologetically patting a massive pectoral, “that I’ve forgotten your name.”</p><p>“It’s Nanaue,” says King Shark. “Don’t worry, I’ll put it down in your phone when I give you my number.”</p>
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